All I Got
by 8belles
Summary: My take on the events post Russian battle of Steve vs. Stark in Civil War. Bucky and Steve go to Wakanda. (pretty self indulgent but I hope you all like it.) Short shot.
1. Chapter 1

"My Lord, a foreign ship approaches." the technician said softly to the King of Wakanda who stood arms held neatly behind him, looking over her chair at the radar image on the display. A small green dot moved across the gridlines toward the airstrip of the Wakandan capitol.

"I know. Let them come." he replied calmly, "They are friends."

"Yes my lord." the technician replied and then pressed several buttons and gently cleared her throat, "Foreign aircraft. You have permission to land. Runway Bravo Romeo 10."

"Understood, control. Rogers out." the barely audible voice of Steven Rogers crackled over the comlink.

T'Challa looked worriedly at the speaker at the tone of Rogers' voice. "Send a full medical team to meet them at the runway. If their aircraft falters during approach, then take it over with the computer and guide it here."

"Yes, my lord." the woman again responded, not taking her eyes off her computer station but rapidly sending out commands via her touch screen.

Soon, the red light of fire trucks and wails of sirens illuminated below as they raced towards the runway. Tucked inside the mists of Wakanda, tiny pin points of light could be seen: the lights of a quinjet carrying two best friends to their new home.

Rogers could barely keep his eyes open, one was partially swelled shut anyway, to see the runway. His broken ribs ached and burned as he moved the throttle levers back and pulled on the yoke to make their approach for landing. His mind despairingly wandered to Peggy when he put the _Valkyrie_ in the ocean, how soft but brave her voice was trying to choke back the tears she knew were coming because Steve was going to die.

Now she was the one who had gone and he'd never hear that voice again, young or aged.

The bitterness of how his life was one large loss began to well up making his wounds hurt more; pulsing with anger with each heartbeat.

A faint groan in Russian pulled him back from red tinted vision.

Steve spared a one eyed glance back at the stricken Bucky who was haphazardly strapped into a panel of seats, no bed being available on the plane. His amputated arm stuck out at a jagged angle, wires and metal twisted into a wrecked stump. Fluid dripped out and pooled on the floor. It could have been blood or brake fluid, for all he knew. Regardless, Barnes' survival pulled him back from the abyss of rage had been teetering over just seconds ago.

"Hang on, Buck." Steve muttered more to himself than to Barnes, tightening his grip on the yoke, as he tried to take his double vision and square it up on the swimming dashed white lines approaching at a frightening speed. "You're all I got."

The Wakanda technician noticed the plane was coming in at far too fast and steep to land. She quickly used her terminal to take over the flight controls and slowed the plane down adjusting for pitch. She never openly questioned her king, but in the back of her mind she wondered who was so special that he'd take such pains to help especially with the turmoil the world was suffering. Under her delicate touch, the quinjet landed with nary a bump and slowed to a stop. From her vantage point, she could see the medical team rushing to the plane. She had done her part.

Sagging forward, Rogers lowered the cargo bay doors with an exhausted swipe of a hand. Light poured into the plane with the smell of tropical plants and humidity. Steve, barely conscious, wondered if he had died and gone to heaven. The Wakandan EMT's face was the last thing he saw before passing out.

Rogers heard a noise, but it wasn't a city sound. It was a cricket. It's chirping was not annoying but rather soothing reminding him of Barton's farm. A safe place with family, away from the hurt and pain of the city.

Where was he that there was peace? _Ultron's voice mocked him, "Without war, who are you?"_

" _It's not important how we stay together." Widow implored from memory, "Just that we stay together."_

Cautiously, before opening his eyes, recalling the rude awakening he received from Nick Fury and S.H.I.E.L.D. years ago after they thawed him out, he listened closer. There was the cricket and the sound of machines, but it sounded like medical apparatus. His fingers told him he was in a bed with soft sheets, his body cushioned comfortably. It was warm and he could smell tropical flowers and antiseptic just hiding below the floral notes. Then he noticed the IV in his arm.

Suddenly it smacked him across the face: Wakanda, T'CHalla… Bucky.

Eyes flying open, he gripped the sheets and tried to sit up. His injuries had other ideas as stars danced before his eyes and his ribs spiked him in pain. Rogers looked over the bed and noticed a tube from his side draining fluid that looked a lot like yellow syrup tinged with blood.

Sagging back, he closed his eyes again, his non-IV arm reaching up to massage his temples as his concussion asserted itself with a crushing headache.

A nurse entered quickly, alerted by the monitors that Steve had begun to move. "Captain Rogers, please. Remain calm." Her accented voice was so soothing. Briefly, Steve wondered if all Wakandans could charm snakes with just the tone of their voice.

"I'm not a Captain anymore." he whispered, the rasp in his voice hurting his head even more.

"Well then, Mr. Rogers, please remain still. You have sustained many injuries." she responded neutrally.

"Just tell me one thing." He turned his head barely to look at the serene nurse, "Is Bucky ok?"

She smiled a kind smile not to sugar coat but to reassure, "He will be fine."

"Good." Steve sighed and passed out again.

It was dark the next time he woke.

Opening his eyes wide in the dark hurt less than in the daytime and he waited for his vision to adjust. The moonlight streamed in through huge windows like slivers of frost which was strange in this tropical paradise. As Steve looked around it seemed Wakandan architecture did not like corners; the walls were smooth and rolling like gentle waves painted in soothing greys and pale greens that were discernable in the bright moonlight. Outside, lights of modern buildings twinkled against the wild, dark jungle.

Feeling an itch, he absently scratched it and noticed the bandage where his chest tube had been. How long had he been unconscious?

A nurse came to check on him, the door to his room sliding silently open. He paused, "Mr. Rogers?"

"I'm awake." Steve replied surprised at the weakness in his voice.

"Are you comfortable?" the nurse replied, approaching. As he did, gentle ambient light began to fill the room, just enough to see by but not be shocked from darkness.

"How long have I been … asleep?" Rogers replied as the nurse took vitals from the surrounding machines and assessed Steve's injuries.

Glancing down at his tablet computer, he replied, "Approximately two days." A pearly smile formed over the nurse's face, "You heal surprisingly fast."

"Thanks. It's a gift." Steve could feel the hints of his concussion cramping in the back of his skull. "Say, my friend. Where is he? Is he alright?"

"Mr. Barnes is also resting." The nurse replied neutrally finishing his inspection of Steve.

"Can I go see him?" Steve asked almost plaintively.

"I'm afraid not, Mr. Rogers. It's two in the morning." The nurse smiled politely at him.

Rogers sighed, "Then can I get two Tylenol for my headache?"

"Certainly. I'll be right back." the nurse replied and left out the same silent sliding door.

Steve waited a moment and then pulled his body into a sitting position. The room swam slightly like a rocking ship. His sore muscles and the stitches they had to put in him pulled and ached making him wince in pain. As he contemplated his next move, a memory came to him.

" _Rogers! C'mon!" Bucky's voice hissed from the fire escape, "The show starts in ten minutes and you still have to run your skinny ass there."_

" _Yeah yeah. I'm coming." Steve replied putting the last dab of pomade on his_

 _blond hair and patted on some of his dad's left over Old Spice cologne as he looked furtively over his shoulder at the door to his room, half expecting his mother to crash in and bust him. He had told her he wasn't feeling well and went to bed early. Laura, being exhausted from her late shift, hardly noticed as she moved woodenly around the small tenement picking up after her and her son. It sort of made Steve feel bad that he was being dishonest and sneaking out to the movies instead of helping her._

" _C'mon!" Barnes persisted at the window pane, his dark locks smoothed back and shiny in the moonlight. His shirt collar was neatly pressed and a scarlet tie knotted at his throat. Barnes smelled of Old Spice as well._

" _Shut your yap, Buck. Momma will hear you." Steve whispered fiercely as he pried the window open just enough to squeeze his body through._

" _Well hurry it up and you won't get caught, slug." Bucky stated as he helped the shorter teen out of the window sill._

 _Steve stood up on the grating and straightened the blue vest over one of his better dress shirts, "How do I look?"_

 _Barnes smiled benevolently at him, "Like a real lady-killer." He shoved Rogers lightly in the shoulder, "Now let's go see that movie."_

Steve smiled lightly at the memory. He still felt guilty he had snuck out on his mom that night. She never knew, or if she did, never told him. The movie hadn't been that good. As usual, Bucky was a hit with the ladies, while he continued to strike out for a negative batting average.

Now he was sneaking out a foreign country's hospital, no mother to catch him red handed.

Cool tile met his feet as he tested his strength of his legs. Satisfied that he'd be able to walk without collapsing and his gown covered all of himself, he made for the door before the nurse returned with the Tylenol, his IV tugging in his arm with a pinch. _Damn_ , he thought, _I hadn't considered that._ Not to be deterred, he pulled it along with him, grateful it had silent wheels.

The door was missing any key pad or door knobs of any kind, but they yielded to him once he approached. The rounded hallways were lit with a type of ambient night light casting warm light upon the floor and the ceiling. Steve looked right and left noticing that there were no alcoves or closets he could dive into if he needed. He didn't even know what room Bucky was in. _Brilliant, Rogers_ , he chided himself and decided to go right around the bending hallway. _What will T'Challa think if he finds out you're sneaking around._

Rounding the bend, it was as if the super cat-like hearing of the King of Wakanda heard Steve's thoughts. T'Challa stood confidently, a slight smile of amusement on his lips, in the middle of the hallway.

Steve froze, suddenly aware of the preposterous way he must look to T'Challa at that moment. His cheeks colored.

"Out for a late night stroll, Mr. Rogers?" T'Challa sounded amused, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Your Highness." Steve straightened as much as he could without pulling on broken ribs and stiches.

"Please. It's is very late. T'Challa will do. I cannot be the king every second of the day." T'Challa approached warmly, "Sometimes you need to be a friend, not a monarch."

"T'Challa." Steve echoed tiredly.

"Are you comfortable or has something disturbed your rest?" Genuine concern pinched at the corners of his deep brown eyes.

Steve decided that two in the morning was not a time to be evasive. "I was going to see my friend, Bucky."

T'Challa smiled a gentle smile falling in beside the former Avenger and gesturing with his hand to walk. Steve hesitantly followed, curious about his intent. "You and he have an interesting history. A deep and remarkable friendship."

"You might describe it that way." Steve replied thoughtfully, holding his IV pole.

They continued down the smooth curving hallway in slow silence. To Steve, one doorway looked like every other. How did the staff find their way around in this maze?

After several more feet of quiet, they arrived at a door. Rogers noticed the smooth automatic entry had a slightly different color than the ones in his section. Perhaps it indicated an ICU or similar type of designation. T'Challa turned to him, "I know it would be foolish to keep you from seeing your friend. Wakandans have stories about men who are brothers in spirit, though be of different flesh. You and James are of that nature; brothers before birth, connected at the soul. Who am I to keep you separated longer than Fate intended?"

Steve was humbled. He never thought of his friendship with Bucky in that way, but expressed that way, it did make perfect sense. "Thank you, your highness."

"We are warriors. T'Challa is my name, Steve." T'Challa gripped Rogers's better arm by the elbow.

Steve nodded and then turned away to enter Bucky's room. T'Challa watched him enter and hoped both men would get some rest.


	2. Come Home

Steve noticed Bucky's room was exactly like his but it had a few extra pieces of equipment, he guessed for emergencies. James lay in bed, his face, stitched, bruised and purpled in the low ambient light. His hair was washed and neatly combed down to his shoulders. An easy rise and fall of his chest was reassuring to Steve as he approached. The left side of the mattress eerily empty under his sheet, pulled to Bucky's chest, except for the lines snaking their way out to monitors and his own IV pole.

A tightness gripped Rogers' chest as he moved to the right side of the bed, not wanting to be vividly reminded of the sacrifice Barnes had made to keep him safe from Tony.

He sighed, which made his broken ribs hurt but that felt better than what his heart was feeling. Waves of emotions raced forward in a swirl, competing for his limited energy at that late hour; joy, worry, excitement and fear. Reaching out, he put a hand on Barnes's shoulder to assure himself that Bucky was really there, in the flesh, damaged but alive.

Bucky didn't move at Steve's touch but he was warm. Finding a chair, Rogers pulled it up alongside Bucky's bed and sank gratefully down into it, not realizing how sore he still was from his own battle wounds.

Steve began to smile slightly in happiness that finally Fate had smiled upon him. He would not fail Bucky again. He would not let one more piece of his life escape tragically. He was finally in control of his destiny on his terms and Barnes would be part of that once more. He had a new life back from all the suffering, agony and fighting. The taunting voice of Ultron would be silenced. Steve Rogers did not need war to define him any longer.

Before that resolve could congeal into a solid rock that Steve could anchor on, the cold hand of fear crept up and began to choke him. Doubt slithered forth, wrapping wet, sticky tentacles over his resolve and optimism. What if Stark found them again? What was Ross going to do if they were arrested? How would the Accords treat them? Traitors, villains, war criminals; they would be separated again, if not in jail then in death. Rogers felt truly Bucky rather die than go to prison for crimes he was not responsible for.

Natasha's voice echoed _, "You really want to punch your way out of this one Rogers?"_

 _No,_ he thought, _it doesn't matter how we stay together, just that we stay together, Natasha_.

A conflict of emotions slammed into him taking his breath away; regret, fear, sadness and deep cut of loss.

All I got. He's all I got. I can't fail him. I can't falter.

* * *

 _The warm air currents swelled up from the heated ground carrying the smell of rubbish and workman sweat. Summer time in the city was sometimes a dismal thing; every tenement with a window had them wide open to perhaps catch a faint breeze. Washing swayed lazily in the air, crisscrossing the alleyways like ships at sea._

 _A thin blonde boy sat on the fire escape, dangling knobby knees over the edge. His sock poked out through a hole in his leather shoes tied with piecework knotted laces. He folded his arms over the railing, cushioning his cheek on his forearms as he looked at his best friend sitting next to him._

 _The friend was dark where the blonde was light, heavier too. Only a little over a year older, their size would make them look like five years were between them. Bucky also pillowed his arms on the rail, his muscular legs hanging over but his gaze outward over the neighborhood washing._

 _It was the summer of 1928._

" _Stevie… remember that time the pigeons flew over everyone's wash." the eleven-year-old dark haired boy said with a gap toothed grin. "Momma was cursing for a week. Said we'd eat pigeon every day for a week because of those darn birds."_

 _The blonde boy smiled slightly, sapphire eyes serious. He remembered. There were purple bird shat stains on his hand-me-down shirts for weeks._

 _When the comment didn't elicit a laugh, Bucky looked at Steve, his youthful face pinched in concern, "Hey. What's wrong?"_

 _Steve tried to sigh, but it came out as rattling cough. Summertime was almost as bad as winter for him with his asthma. When he caught his breath, he replied quietly, "Nuthin' I guess. I was just thinking."_

" _Thinking about what?" Bucky pressed watching Steve's coloring pink uo again from grey._

" _Things. Things I heard." Steve replied and adjusted his seat, "Like I was out at market the other day and heard the grocer says it was harder to get food in because it's all drying up out in the country—ya know the farms. Some terrible drought, like nothin' nobody's seen before. They were talking about dust so thick it was like a blizzard. And you can't breathe." Steve's blue eyes were huge in his thin face, slightly terrified at the prospect of losing his breath to some force other than asthma. "And… and what if it comes here? What if we can't eat because there's no food!"_

" _Sounds like just stories." Bucky reassured, a smile coming easily to his lips, "Momma said food is cheap in the market." Just as he said it, Bucky regretted it because he knew how hard Mrs. Rogers worked just to feed her and her son._

 _Steve ignored the statement's implications and just looked out at the slowly waving washing, "But really what scared me was what I heard the other day when I was selling papers. Some top hats were talking about the banks. Said somethin' about stocks and banks running." Steve looked at Bucky, "How does a bank run? It's a building."_

 _Barnes laughed at the absurdity of a bank running and replied, giggling, "I dunno silly. Can you imagine a whole building getting up and running!"_

 _Steve giggled a little too._

" _Maybe you should ask your mom." Barnes stated, "She's a smart lady." he added politely._

" _Yeah. She is." Steve perked up in pride, but then his expression hollowed, "But I wish my dad was around."_

 _Barnes remained quiet, listening to his friend. It wasn't often he talked about his dad. Steve had barely known him at all, mostly from the few photos they had of him in is WW1 brown uniform. Rogers bragged sometimes the stories his mom would tell him about his father, how dashing he was and a good man and soldier. Sara Rogers only told the good side of Joseph Rogers. It was the only side she wanted her son to know._

" _You ever think…" Rogers trailed off, wiping his nose and staring down at the hole in his shoe._

" _Think what?" Bucky queried following his gaze._

" _That it will happen again?" Steve's voice was small._

" _What will happen again? Bucky wondered._

" _A war."_

 _Bucky's mom was close to Mrs. Rogers and he had overheard the women chatting a few months ago after a hard shift for Sara Rogers. Sara was confiding in Mrs. Barnes that if her husband hadn't been drafted into that damn war and gotten himself so shell shocked, he'd not started drinking, which eventually did him in. Bucky understood enough that Mr. Rogers obviously didn't want to remember anything he saw over there._

 _A long pause filled the space between them. Suddenly, being eleven felt like one hundred years as the boys quietly pondered things adults worried about, not children._

" _I dunno." Bucky answered truthfully. The boy's stomach felt like a cold pit. Barnes was smart as a whip, even though he frequently denied it. He also read extensively when he had the chance. His paper boy corner was closer to City Hall and he had heard all the politicians chatter. There was talk of Germany again in the news, albeit a small mention. Some man named Adolph Hitler was making waves in the Weimar government. A few of the city aldermen were carrying a book… "_ Mein _" something. Bucky didn't like the sound of it. Would his own dad be called back into action? Would he lose his dad too?_

 _Frowning hard, gazing back at the laundry, Bucky found himself digging his nails into the railing as he imagined his dad gone, just him, his mom and his sisters trying to eke out a life in Brooklyn. Just like Steve._

 _Rogers swung his legs harder on the fire escape, obviously agitated. A glare beetled his brow as he turned his face quickly toward Barnes, "Bucky. Make me a promise."_

" _Sure, Stevie. Anything." Barnes equally intense in his reply as if these were the last words they'd ever speak to each other._

" _If, when we're grown… like 15 or something like that… and there's another war, we'll go into it together." A fierce fire glowed in Steve's eyes. "And we'll stay together. No matter what."_

 _Bucky swallowed hard, pondering that future. He didn't want to fight, but if his dad could he certainly would too. And Steve, his best buddy, unquestionably couldn't go out there alone. "Sure. Sure pal."_

" _Ok. Shake." Steve thrust out a callused hand to seal the deal._

 _Bucky matched his palm to Steve's. They shook once and let go looking back at the laundry. They remained silent until they were called in by their mothers, not really sure what both of them had just signed up for._

* * *

"Steve." a whisper came to him. It sounded like a million miles away like the radio had when S.H.I.E.L.D. woke him up from his freeze. "You're snoring."

"Five more minutes." he grumbled in response.

He heard a soft laugh, just barely audible. A sound of lightly flapping laundry echoed from the past

Who was laughing at him?

Where was he?

Then the memory hit him like the double barrels of a shotgun.

Cerulean eyes snapped open as he jerked awake followed by a groan of agony as his neck that was bent at a strange angle in the chair whipped to upright. There was more light laughter, more like staccato breathing than true laughing.

Rogers's vision swam with pain as he adjusted his awkwardly leaning neck and sat up as best he could. Bucky was looking at him from his pillow, the bruises and stitches making him look like a pale excuse for a zombie. Steve smiled despite his soreness because he could see the mirth in Barnes's eyes.

The memory of the dream he had asserted itself turning Steve's thoughts and expression dark, "Buck. I'm here. I'll always be here."

Barnes frowned slightly at Roger's gravity and replied faintly, "I know."

"No. I mean it." Steve took Bucky's hand and gave it a squeeze, "You deserve more than I've given you. We shook on it when we were kids back in Brooklyn. Never to leave each other. It's about time I lived up to that promise. You _are_ worth it. You're my friend."

Bucky gave a half smile, "I remember." He took a breath, "It's ok. I wasn't a poster child for living up to promises either."

"But if I had just-" Steve began, his expression saddening.

"Stop."

"But if I had just caught you-"

"Stop."

"Bucky."

"Stop, Steve." Bucky finally growled making him close his eyes and swallow to catch his breath as his own injuries proclaimed themselves.

Rogers sat still, holding his hand, staring down at the floor between his feet.

"I don't want to argue about this right now." Bucky sighed.

"Fine."

"Go get some sleep, jerk."

"I've been asleep too long already, Bucky." Steve countered.

"Isn't that a cute metaphor that is so cliché." Barnes whispered cutting his eyes at Steve.

"Yeah. I guess."

"We're safe. Go to bed." Bucky muttered finally and closed his eyes, just like he'd do in the army after bedding down for the night.

Steve blinked and released Barnes' hand, gazing at his friend _. You're all I got, Buck_ , he thought. _I'm never giving you up again._

Bucky's mind raced in panic as he heard Rogers stand up with a groan and shuffle back to his own bedroom. Trying to breathe normally, hoping his vitals didn't give away his distress, he lay still pretending to sleep. The shoulder stump began to throb as the circuitry looked for the arm that was not there anymore, reporting a malfunction back to his brain as burning pain. Wincing slightly, Bucky was sure that Hydra programmed it that way to inflict more agony on him. Shifting in bed didn't help and it felt weird to be lighter on one side than the other so he settled in and tried to accept his new normal.

Bucky focused on anything to try and drift back to real sleep instead of artificial cryostasis. Rest was elusive and knowing what he planned to do to Steve once he was healed up well enough weighed heavily upon him. He could still feel the presence of Hydra in his skull even though it'd been two years since he dragged Steve out of the Potomac and read his history in the halls of the Smithsonian.

Every day since then, he'd get up from his tiny sleeping bag bed, look across the studio apartment into his microscopic kitchen, where the window was papered over in old newsprint and feel the slithering tentacles of Hydra. The boogie man was just there on the periphery of his vision, waiting for their moment to strike and recall him. A Grim Reaper stood just out of sight wearing Arnim Zola's face. Barnes shivered.

* * *

" _Sir, the Asset has not returned." the technician reported unemotionally to Zola through his secret phone line at his home just outside of Manhattan. Zola had been assigned to S.H.I.E.L.D. just after he signed an affidavit that he would renounce all Hydra activity in exchange for his life._

 _Peggy Carter had recommended adamantly against it, seeing his direct role in harnessing the tesseract's energy for the Red Skull was unpardonable. She also blamed him directly for the death of Captain America. In the end, President Truman saw more potential in Zola's help against the rising Communist government in Russia than any atrocities he had committed during the war. He was released and under Peggy's watch. Director Carter certainly put a crimp in his style, but he was clever enough to work around it._

" _I see. Keep me posted."_ Arnim _replied curtly and replaced the phone on the cradle. Laying back on his pillow, he stared at the ceiling, troubled. The Asset sometimes had lapses. Dr. Fenhoff, a crack Russian psychologist that Zola was imprisoned with briefly, have given him some ideas to control those lapses in programming but Zola had not implemented them yet._

 _Zola wondered if the job was done. The Russians had sent him a message only days earlier asking to activate the Asset to kill Howard Stark. Stark was working obsessively once again on a super soldier serum, determined to clear his conscience of Steve Rogers's death after he couldn't find Rogers' body in the Arctic ice after he located the tesseract. The Russians were not fond of who Captain America had been and did not want America do have more of their own._

Arnim _had agreed to it as a simple hit, more out of thanks to Dr. Fenhoff, but the window of opportunity was small. Stark was going to be home for a short time this week between his jet-setting lifestyle. The lab was in the basement of his home, where he'd be indubitably be found. Occasionally, Peggy had dinner with him, when he wasn't entertaining any lady friends. Zola smiled a bit. It'd be nice if the Asset removed both his boss and Stark._

 _Drifting off to sleep, Zola closed his eyes and concluded it could wait till morning and that he should not worry where his precious Asset was or what he was doing. His Fist of Hydra would come home. He always did._

 _The estate was huge, but the Winter Soldier moved effectively through the expansive grounds to the house. The shadows were his allies filling many corners with darkness and creeping up walls in the near moonless night. A few lights were on inside. He avoided those windows and found the door by the butler's entrance that would be unlocked._

 _Like a ghost, he breezed into the home and closed the door._

 _Jarvis was making a cup of tea in the small servants' kitchen when he caught a movement of air in the room. Pausing his stirring, he looked over his shoulder but saw nothing. Knowing the house was old, he thought nothing of it. Carter had tried to teach him some spying techniques, but those were from years ago and he was sorely out of practice._

 _Edwin smiled lightly at those days as he dipped his tea bag up and down absently in the steaming water. The two of them, Carter and Jarvis, had really been something, had they not? Turning his full attention to his tea, he was glad just a few hours ago, Howard had run out of the house jabbering some science-y gibberish. That meant there were no turn down tasks to undertake this evening and he was free to enjoy his radio programs and the company of his lovely wife. No more need to seek adventure for this butler!_

 _The Asset crept down to the lower level, expertly picking the lock on the door to the lab below. Taking his muzzled pistol in his right hand, he gripped the handle of the door in his left and turned the lock. It gave easily. Leaping gracefully into the room, weapon drawn to where a Howard Stark would have been standing, empty space greeted him._

 _Eyes flashed into every corner looking for a hiding person. Scanning the room, every nerve taut and alert, he moved carefully around inventions both working and obviously scrap. Taking care not to trip on spare parts and pieces, it was clear to the Asset that his target was not present._

 _Feeling the homing beacon command to come home when the target was not near, he began to move back towards the door, leaving no trace of his presence. Passing Howard's desk, his eyes caught sight of a familiar face. The Winter Soldier paused, momentarily pulling against his programming like a dog on a leash smelling something interesting._

 _Picking up the frame, he looked at the black and white image. In the center stood Peggy Carter in her army uniform, chestnut curls pinned back, lipstick expertly applied. She looked familiar to him but he could not pinpoint why. Clearly she was in the army, he recognized the American uniform. World War two… but the memory tore apart like delicate tissue. To her right was Howard Stark in a shirt and suspenders, a 'know-it-all' grin on his face. The Asset felt his mission prick him with the command "kill him" only to be shut down with "not here". The two commands oscillated on and off until a piercing headache made the Asset grit his teeth and screw closed his eyes to stop looking at the photo. Once the visual stimulation stopped, the warring orders ceased their battle in his brain for dominance._

 _He was about to put the picture down without looking at it again, lest the pain begin again, but there were three people. Who was the third man?_

 _Determined to not look at Howard again, the Asset blocked that portion of the photo from view and then opened his eyes. Peggy Carter stood in the middle of the picture and on her left was a tall, handsome man in his army uniform, holding a silver, unpainted shield. It had a star within concentric circles. They were smiling at the camera._

 _Squinting slightly, the Asset concentrated on the man's face._

 _32557038… Sargent James Barnes. 32557038…._

 _STOP._

 _Longing… Rusted… Furnace…_

 _STOP._

 _A pair of younger voices reached out from the abyss of his past._

"It's ok. She's next to dad." Said a scrawny man, climbing stairs, hands jammed in his pockets, looking despondent.

"I was going to ask." The dark hair man was concerned, clearly worried about the shorter one.

"I know what you're going to say Buck, it's just…" stated the blonde man, pain written plainly over his face but a burning determination to make it on his own was in his eyes.

"We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun. All you got to do is shine my shoes… maybe take out the trash. C'mon." The dark haired man cajoled.

"Thank you Buck, but I can get by on my own." The sorrow poured off the blonde like water rushing downhill.

"Thing is you don't have to. I'm with you till the end of the line, pal." A warm friendly hand reached out and grasped the smaller man's shoulder. The seriousness in his tone was so genuine, it hurt.

 _The Asset began to tremble violently. With shaking fingers, he replaced the photo and tore his eyes from the picture of the tall man. His insides began to feel like liquid, the way they always did right before he was frozen again. It felt like falling… off a… train._

 _Running up the stairs, he ripped open the door and launched himself out of the house like a bullet. Jarvis didn't hear a thing, considering he was listening to his favorite police radio show, the sounds blended in. Anna commented on the dialogue occasionally making Jarvis laugh._

 _Still sprinting, the Asset tore at branches, foot prints left gouges in the mulch of landscaped beds and finally he tripped on a root crashing face down into the loam._

 _His breath came in pants, as if he was a wounded animal inhaling the moist odor of earth and growing things. The world was spinning like the roller coaster at… Coney Island boardwalk. Coney Island? Was he ever there? There was no mission there. Sea spray and fish flooded forth with the call of gulls and a calliope playing circus tunes._

 _Brooklyn. New York. Steve…. Steve… Steve…Rogers? A memory seized him like the chair did when they wiped his mind. Suddenly he was frozen still as if watching a movie of his own life._

* * *

Steve came in from a painting job and saw the beige form on the kitchen table on top of the newspaper in their small apartment not far from their Dumbo neighborhood. Sara Rogers had been gone for nearly four years. He had taken the insignificant amount of money left to him and enrolled in art school. Rogers got odd jobs as a sign painter around town and portrait artist, but business was starting to slow down and the school was emptying because of the draft and the call to war.

Fingering the form, the neat script of the army clerk wrote the newly enlisted soldiers name: James Buchanan Barnes. It listed his vitals, his parents and other information. Below in a large box was stamped a large 1A, clearing him for active duty. Steve gave a dejected smile that he was listed as a next of kin on Bucky's form. Part of him wanted to rip it to shreds.

With a sigh and a gritting his teeth in frustration, he stared hard at the piece of paper willing it to burst in to flame or the name on it to change to his. He'd tried to join. Three times.

Bucky entered the kitchen from the two bedrooms just adjacent in the small tenement. He had just gotten back from the recruitment office a few moments earlier. "Hey Steve."

"You did it." Rogers said flatly, still staring fiercely at the paper, his blond hair dangling in front of his eyes, smeared with a bit of white paint.

"We talked about this Steve." Bucky sighed and moved around the kitchen to make them dinner.

"Yeah." Rogers admitted. It had been a long and drawn out conversation almost ending in blows.

"Well, we agreed. I might as well enlist because they were going to come for me anyway. And it's the right thing to do." Barnes commented absently over his shoulder as he peeled potatoes, glad Rogers couldn't see the tremor in his hands or the worry creasing his brow. Bucky really didn't want to fight about this again.

"Yeah." Steve said again with a hard edge to his voice, now repulsed by the form sitting just inches from his hand.

Bucky put the potato and the knife down into the basin. Gripping the edge of the sink in both hands, his shoulders slumped as he hung his head in annoyance. He turned to face his best friend, fear and anger in his eyes, "What do you want from me, Steve?"

Steve looked up resentfully from the table, locking eyes with Barnes, hands balled into fists, "I want to go too."

Barnes exhaled the breath he was holding, "Steve. You can't. You know why."

"Right. I'm not good enough." Steve gritted out, fire burning in his eyes, "It's not fair."

"War isn't fair, Steve. The army picks men based on their ability to fight and to keep their friends alive." Bucky pleaded and the last word hung for a moment as the mortality of the situation settled in between them. Upstairs the Calvin's argued, their voices clear as bells through the thin walls and floor. The baby down the hall wailed and some kids ran down the long hallway just outside their door their feet like a herd of buffalo in western movies. "And the army and I are doing the best thing for you." He omitted the painfully heavy sentiment about keeping Steve alive to himself.

"I don't need Uncle Sam and you telling me what is best for me." Steve spit out, trying to block the picture of a dead or maimed Bucky on the battlefield out of his head. If he kept his anger focused on his indignation, he didn't have to think the consequences of war applied to Bucky.

"It doesn't matter. It's done." Barnes butted up against Steve's stubbornness with irritation of his own. He loved Steve like a brother, but sometimes he just didn't know when to quit.

"So you're going to go off and get killed. And I can't come because some white coat thinks I'm not good enough to defend Old Glory. Great. Fine." Steve seethed, sparks flying from his eyes, blotches of paint on his cheeks intensifying the effect.

Bucky's mouth opened with a smart reply and a hand came up with an accusatory finger, but instead he let his temper drain and closed his mouth. A sadness filled his eyes seeing his best friend so angry and hurt at a choice what wasn't Barnes' to make. The army would come for Bucky; this was supposed to make it less painful for both of them than the letter in the mail that Rogers would never get. Turning back to the sink, he began to peel potatoes again for dinner. Barnes heard the apartment door slam shut.

He knew Steve would be back. He always returned home, especially for dinner when Bucky was fixing his mashed potatoes. Rogers loved those.

* * *

 _The Asset saw flashes of the angry blonde boy in his mind. Steven Grant Rogers. He collapsed, unconscious into the turf of the Stark estate, concealed by landscaping. It would be three days before Hydra had to retrieve their Asset. He was found sitting propped up against a headstone in Arlington Cemetery staring at the memorial to Captain America._

* * *

The dark room was warm and comfortable. Slowly, Bucky was getting used to the flashbacks, but Barnes has made up his mind to go back into the freeze until they could fix him. That truth burned in Barnes's eyes as unshed tears. He was going to break Steve's heart and that was the worst crime he'd ever commit.

 **A/N-** Yes, I researched all the history. And I'm linking the last episode of _Agent Carter_ into this, as well as flash backs we get from _Civil War_ because I think Peggy needs more screen/fic time. Chapter 2 dialogue quoted directly from Captain America: Winter Soldier. Thanks for the readership!


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